The Salem Games
by fiery-hallows
Summary: Welcome to the Salem Games. Each year, fifteen people are selected randomly from around the world to compete in an annual event similar to the online game that most of us may spend hours playing behind the computer screens. You may think that a girl like me, who knows the game inside out, was prepared. Oh no. There was more to it than I initially thought.
1. Chapter 1

The sound of the final bell on the last day of school was like a blessing to my ears.

Time had ticked much too slowly today-especially when something as blissful as two months of summer break beckoned to someone who couldn't wait to relax after ten months of learning and assessments and endless stress. Of course, by the time I graduate from high school next year I couldn't say for sure that the summers would be completely dedicated to relaxing, but nonetheless I was just as excited as a kid on Christmas morning. Glancing around at my classmates cheering the moment the bell rang and running out of the classroom like stampeding wildebeests, I chuckled to myself and followed them into the once deserted hallways, the smile on my face widening into a grin the moment the brilliant sunshine flooded into my vision.

It seemed as if my next two months of summer would be just as bright as the sun in the azure sky.

"Finally!" I heard my best friend, Rena, exclaim right behind me. "I've been looking all over for you, Brianne!"

"Sorry." I turned back to glance over and her and laughed. "Just a bit too excited."

"Too excited to spend your entire summer playing Town of Salem until you get every single achievement?" my other best friend, Luke, chimed in as he squeezed in beside Rena.

To this, I gaped at Luke. "How did you-"

"I didn't have to be a spy to know that," he said with a chuckle, shaking his head which allowed a few short black strands of his hair to fall in front of his face. "Besides, it's all you ever talk about sometimes."

That part, I knew, was true. I was not like most of the other students who were too excited trying out their two-piece bikinis at their next luxurious beach vacation, drenching themselves with buckets filled with ice or water guns filled to the brim, boarding a plane going to a foreign place in the world, or sitting outside reading all the Harry Potter books again. Instead, I have spent most of my days besides doing homework or helping my mother with the house chores playing Town of Salem, which works a little like Mafia but has more roles, more people, more suspense, and above all, more fun. Ever since Rena introduced it to me three years ago, I was hooked, and since then I have tried to get a feel for the game in its entirety. By the end of last summer, I had played every role there was, and now with the next update on the rise, I was more than prepared to see what other surprises were in store.

"Okay, well, that is true," I said then, breaking free from the mob so they could hear me better without having to raise my voice. "And also find a job so I can pay my tuition when university rolls around next year."

"I have not even taken any thought about university yet," Rena said thoughtfully, scratching her head and combing back her long brown locks. "Consider me screwed."

"Nope. I think we're all in the same boat," Luke chimed in grimly. "As long as we're all not considered for the Salem Games, I think we're good."

This sent a chill running up my back. How could I forget? Just recently, the annual Salem Games was initiated, and no one knew the reason why. In fact, no one believed it to be real until people mysteriously started disappearing and then end up on worldwide television for everyone to watch. All people, old and young, experienced and inexperienced, were considered on the random roster to play this deadly game. Not everyone made it out alive.

"Don't even go there," Rena murmured with a shake of her head. "If I have to recall one more time how the Transporter ended up getting lynched by his own townspeople, I'll puke."

"Or the time the Serial Killer literally chopped up the Witch until nothing was left but slabs of flesh," I echoed as the image flashed in my mind. "I don't get how people take this so seriously to the point where they forgot who they were."

In any case, I knew that in the end, all games relied on surviving and winning. Anyone would want to live to see another day, but who knew who would oppose them and sever what short lifeline they had? Once survival had become the main priority, humanity had shrunk to be the least of everyone's worries. They didn't care that a Vigilante was really a boy who had no experience with a gun. They didn't care that the Godfather was a little girl who loved to throw tantrums when nothing went her way. To them, they only saw the labels and roles as they were. The mere thought of it simply made me shiver.

"On the bright side, though, I've got a pool day planned for the three of us if you aren't busy," Luke piped up in an attempt to relieve our worries. "It'll be this Sunday if you want to drop by."

"Well, that sounds fun," Rena agreed with a nod. "I'm totally down. What about you, Brianne?"

"Sounds cool." I gave them a hopefully convincing smile, just to hide the quivering that resonated within my limbs. "Can't wait. But till then..."

"Three cheers to summer!" we all shouted, throwing our hands up in the air.

* * *

I was not prepared to get any weird mail over the summer, much less an invitation to join the Salem Games. In fact, all thoughts of it flew out the window until after the pool party at Luke's, when I reached my front door and saw an old worn scroll rolled up tightly and wedged snugly in the door handle of the big double doors of my house.

"How queer," I whispered to myself. I glanced around the rest of the neighbourhood to see if anyone else had a similar scroll attached to their doors, which, somehow, they didn't. Slowly, I eased the scroll free and turned it round a few times, glancing at the seal which held the scroll together-black wax with the imprint of a single _S-_ before unfurling it, reading the notice written in slanted script. The further down I went, the more rigid my body became, the air turning frosty having lost the heat that radiated with the typical summer evening. How could this be? Truth be told, I barely even touched the game since school ended. This had to be some kind of joke.

But I knew it was not a joke. One glance around at the chilly gloom surrounding me told me that I was in more trouble than I could ever imagine myself being in. Goosebumps instantly splashed over my bare arms, the winds around me picking up as they brushed past my exposed skin and blew through my short blond hair, but I couldn't brush them away. From afar, I heard an ear-piercing howl, almost like that of a wolf calling to the full moon...and that was when I knew how helpless I was to this whole thing that was about to change my life.

Somehow, I had been chosen to play the Salem Games.

The thought made me keel over, blacking out the moment I hit the ground.


	2. Chapter 2

Picture _The Hunger Games,_ where everyone gets ushered away by an escort to a train that takes them all to the Capitol where the Games would take place, then for the first few days they would be prepped and presented like poster children. Then all that would be stripped from them as they're thrown into the arena-not literally, of course-and all their thoughts hone into their lives and their survival. All questions of humanity would fly out the window as they grab weapons they've never handled before and throw away what innocence and sanity they have once retained. The Salem Games was exactly like that, minus all the parading and poster people at the beginning.

It took me a while to recover from the sudden vertigo that overtook my conscience, and by the time I did wake up I had no idea if I was dreaming. The world suddenly turned dark before my eyes, a vast expanse of obsidian surrounding me, and no matter how many times I blinked I could not shake away the creeping doubts that began to erupt all over my conscience. This was not the right time to question whether it was all real, but yet I did it anyway, for this could not be happening, and yet, it was. No one would know what would happen to me now, and all I could ask in my befuddled mind was, _why me?_ Why was I, out of several others in this world, chosen to play what could be the deadliest game of my life?

"Quick! We have to get you to the lobby in Salem as soon as we can."

A man's disjointed voice soon pierced through the silence and I quickly glanced up, noticing the ghost of a man with a pointed black beard and a tall black pilgrim hat grab me by the wrist and run through the dark endless void. How he was able to grab onto my flesh and pull me up when he was mostly made of air surprised me, though not as much as the fact that I was able to recognize him.

"Hey!" I suddenly exclaimed. "You-you're John, right? John Proctor?"

"No time for introductions, Brianne. Though to answer your question, yes, I am," John Proctor confirmed with a nod. "So you have received our notice?"

"Um, of course. But why me?"

"You'll know when the time comes."

The rest of the trip was rather silent, save for the occasional croak of raven and frog, both made invisible from the dark shroud that covered us. By the time we finally came to a stop in front of what looked like a casino table, my eyes were so close to drooping and my limbs were riddled with nothing but pure exhaustion. All I wanted besides a sweater to block out the cold was sleep.

"Here she is," Proctor said to the woman behind the table-a familiar woman with ginger red hair. "She's the last of us to join the town."

"Ah, yes!" the woman spoke then, her once solemn face brightening the moment she saw me. "Brianne from Canada, am I correct?"

"Indeed, ma'am." My voice probably sounded groggy after hours of dehydration, but the lack of clarity in my voice was the least of my worries.

"Dear me. She seems exhausted from the trip!" the woman exclaimed softly, glancing at me with an air of concern. "Is everything alright?"

 _Is everything alright? Oh, yes, everything is rather swell now that I've lost what could be the rest of my summer just to play the deadliest game in history besides the Hunger Games, and I could very well be dead in 24 hours,_ I thought through the haze of exhaustion that still clouded my mind. It was true, wasn't it? I never got the chance to truly enjoy my final summer before senior year. Was this really the only thing that could permanently end my days?

"Well, to be fair, not everyone came by looking perky," Proctor reported. "Corey brought in a young lad hours ago who looked pretty downright drunk. We hope he could sober up before tomorrow. Meanwhile, Hathorne brought in an old lady who kept complaining about her three cats."

"And this girl? She looks like she's been plucked out of a lake! No wonder she looks tired." The woman then folded her arms. "Have you been swimming?"

I laughed softly at her shock-struck face. Of course she'd be wary; only witches back in the day could swim, after all. "Yes. I was at a pool party at my best friend's place hours ago," I responded, drastically failing to keep my voice peppy.

"Huh. Well, enough questions about that," the woman finally said with a shake of her head. "Now, normally I would ask you to choose a role from this rolling bingo cage, but since everyone else had already gotten their roles, you're naturally left with this last slip of paper here. Go on, take it!"

With shaking fingers, I opened the bingo cage and took the remaining slip from the box, my heart sinking as my eyes registered the single word printed on the paper.

 _Medium._

"Well, there you have it!" the woman chirped, clapping her hands. "Welcome to the town, Brianne! Now, I suggest that you rest up for the night, catch some z's, and get ready for the official commencement tomorrow!"

At the sound of that, I immediately bolted up, my eyes wide. "Wait, it's starting tomorrow?"

"Yes! Oh, I can't wait!" she responded with an excitement I know I would never share. "Now, shoo! Off to your sleeping quarters you go!"

"This way, Brianne." Proctor waved a hand then, leading me through the quiet circular village which I could easily identify as the arena. After a bit, he stopped at a small cottage and opened the door, gesturing me in. "This is your home for the next few days, Brianne. And this..." He gestured to a small cot in the corner of the one-roomed shelter. "That's your bed."

"Fitting." It was the best response I could give now.

"Well, I hope you have a good night, Brianne." Proctor then tipped his hat in my direction with a small smile on his face. "If you ever need anything, just consult your crystal ball. You'll know what I mean when you see it." With that, he closed the door, leaving me completely alone.

A low sigh brushed past my lips then as I looked around at the room, dimly lit by a single candle by my bed. The sight of the mattress made all other thoughts fly out of the window, and I crashed onto the bed, wrapping myself in the dark brown fluffy duvet that they supplied for me. As I laid, I couldn't help but wonder. What would everyone say the moment they see me on live television the next day, surrounded by strangers whose names I wouldn't know until tomorrow? What would they think if they saw me working with strange psychic-like magic to talk with the dead? I never liked being a medium in the online game-the popular "medium's curse" constantly hung on everyone's lips, and the last thing I'd want is to die in the next 24 hours. Yet, I knew, no matter how much I wanted it, there was no escape.

Somehow, I was able to find sleep, though one more thought managed to worm its way in.

 _You have never been in more danger than you already are._


	3. Chapter 3

I've always dreaded waking up in the morning. Back in the school year, waking up to the sunlight streaming in my room meant it was time for another day at school. Now, it meant that it was finally the first day of the Salem Games. There was no point in fighting the time that ticked on and delaying what could be an interesting day. Either way, the sun would only continued to rise, the Earth continuing to revolve, and everyone would go about with their daily lives.

Everyone, it seemed, but fifteen.

I quickly sat up in my cot and glanced down at the outfit I slept in the night before-a swirly tie-dye t-shirt that was at least a half-size too big, and a pair of light denim shorts that made me resemble something like a hippie from previous decades. In this medieval town, there was no room for modern clothing like this. Glancing about, I saw a wooden wardrobe full of clothes from the 17th century, almost mistaking them for badly sewn costumes before realizing that these were the clothes I might have to wear to truly become a member of the town. Stripping myself clean of my t-shirt and shorts, I opted for a long black dress with a white apron, tying a white bonnet over my hair which I typically saw all the default women in the game wear. I slipped on a pair of dark brown shoes then and glanced at my reflection.

The girl that stared back at me looked nothing like me at all. With her hair tucked away in the bonnet and her eyes holding a slight glint of sadness, she looked nothing like the cheerful girl who was about to graduate from high school in a year's time, with many years to look forward to. Her future had been robbed now with the single scroll wedged on her door, the slip that told her the role she had to play.

All she had to do was not screw it up.

So I quickly went over to the door to meet the rest of the town. It was the first day, after all, so it was only fair that I get to know the rest of them before we all started pitting against each other and calling out the supposedly guilty to put on trial, or even just grabbing a weapon and shoot without another second to lose. This thought made me shiver, remembering that I was practically helpless with my role. A medium does not use her crystal ball to attack her attacker.

 _You are a secret psychic who talks with the dead._

Yes, that's the role description. Any other form of self-defense from a role who doesn't have it would be laughable, come to think of it. I gave another low sigh as I pushed the door open and stepped outside into the sunlight.

As my eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness outside, I saw, for the first time, the full setting in which we were to stay in for the next few days (if we ever got to live that long). Fourteen other houses, each one of them identical to the shelter I lived in, surrounded me in a large ring. Gravel paths lined the ground from the door to a stone platform in the centre, where a lone gallow stood in preparation to sever someone's neck. I shivered again at the sensation, my own hands going to my throat as I tried to envision the rope looping tightly there.

I just hope my claim would be enough to help me survive.

Soon, one by one, some of the other people of the town came out wearing clothes that matched the century. Even though I've watched the event for a few years now, it still astounded me how everyone in the town actually came from all over the world. Some of them sported dark skin while wearing a light green dress with a white apron and bonnet. One young girl had her hair braided in many small tight braids all around her head while wearing a dark blue bandanna and a similar dark blue dress with a white apron. An old woman with strands of white in her black hair came hobbling out with her walking stick, and I could catch the gleam in her brown eyes that told me she might be an Asian woman. A middle-aged lad then stumbled out holding a beer bottle, and I had to stifle a laugh. Poor Giles Corey must have had quite the misfortune of bringing him here.

Of course, it wasn't exactly my place to judge them this way. Ethnicity did not matter here in this arena. Only our roles did. It was actually quite similar to the online game in this sense; just because one's chosen pseudonym in the game was Doctor didn't mean that they were a Doctor, and dressing up like Dexter Morgan didn't mean they were a Serial Killer, necessarily. Everyone only cared about the roles and nothing else. Whatever we were before, we were now completely stripped of.

Eventually after a bit, everyone had gathered around the centre of the town, and with that, the rooster crowed, and the Game commenced.

"Welcome, one and all, to our wonderful town!" a woman's voice boomed, and I had to resist rolling my eyes; the voice belonged to the receptionist from last night. "This year is going to be yet another wonderful Salem Games featuring many people, young and old, all around the globe. With so many roles, who knows who's who? Will we see someone trick the town into lynching their own? Will we see a member of the Mafia kill one of their own? Well, we'll know all that and more in this year's Salem Games!

"Now, allow us to meet our wonderful townspeople. Starting over here, we have Charity, then Klaus, and Alana and Hans. Then we have Sam, Justin, Brianne, and Trixie."

The most I could do upon introduction was wave to empty air, which I did. I glanced over at my neighbours then- dashing young man around my age with finely trimmed chestnut coloured hair hidden behind his pilgrim hat and grey-green eyes on my left, and a little girl no older than seven years old with her pale blonde hair tied in two high pigtails with small pink scrunchies covered with a bandana on my right-before turning back to the rest of the town.

"Over here we have Rachael, Peter, Evelyn, and Gwen, and finally we have Nathan, Drew and James," the woman finally concluded with what sounded like the hint of a smile. As usual, I didn't share her excitement.

"Now, before we commence our first night, let us get to know one another as fellow townsfolk. We will be having a fun block party for all of you to enjoy, with music and food and dancing. Just be very careful not to consume too much alcohol! And remember, above all, have fun!"

"Where _is_ the food, though?" the girl living across from me, Alana, asked.

"Why, right over there!" the woman exclaimed, and suddenly a trapdoor opened from below the centre platform where a table full of a grand variety of food ascended into the town. At the same time, some classical music began to play from nowhere in particular.

I was pretty sure they had hidden speakers around the town.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" the drunk boy who I was sure called Sam hollered out, waving his beer bottle. "Let's party!"

And so it all began-the celebrations, the friendships, and undoubtedly, the danger.


	4. Chapter 4

It was reluctance that eventually brought me back through the door of my new home as the sun began to set over the circular vicinity, the party having finally come to an end. My eyes briefly flickered towards the retreating figures of the rest of the townsfolk and the gallow set in the middle of the village, dark against the fading sunlight, before turning to the tools I was given inside the house, all set on a small tea table.

A single crystal ball sitting atop a three-legged wooden stand, along with a stack of parchment and a long feathered quill dipped in an ink pot, was all that was there. All thoughts of the large meal that preceded, ranging from a lightly seasoned seafood salad and slices of delectable sushi to heaps of flaky fried pastries and delicious fluffy cupcakes topped with different coloured icing flew out of my mind that very instant, and my stomach gave an uneasy lurch. What happened at the feast no longer mattered. The friendships forged with Justin, Gwen, and Charity would be long forgotten. Even the wild dancing to Panic! At the Disco and Fall Out Boy no longer mattered. It was the roles that mattered to all of us now; should we fail, we'd be dead.

Sighing, I sat down at my desk and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment towards me. If this was going to be my final word to the family and friends I left behind, and the summer I never got to live before my senior year, what should I say? The quill tapping on my chin soon left a splash of ink dots on my skin, but I didn't care. I was never the good writer at school, and writing a last statement made me feel stumped. This is the last of me they'd read, and I didn't know what to put on the paper.

In the online game, each player would have only one piece of parchment to write their will. Under these circumstances, they would resort to writing down what they've observed, if they were an investigative role, or whether or not they healed someone, if they were a doctor, or who they visited if they could wander around through the town at night. Other people would just write down something stupid, or silly, that would make the town question what they really were before they died. Then again, who could we trust here? Would showing us a medium's will truly make us believe that they're medium? Friend would turn to foe as they turn against friend to fulfill their roles' attributes and things. And in the end, what would become of all of us?

"Well. At least they gave you everything you need."

The sound of a woman addressing me from behind made me jump. Did I already get a nighttime visitor on the first night? All this time I had dreaded the medium's curse, always getting to me the very first night, and so it was with my quill in hand and a scream risen to my throat when I turned around to see the ghostly figure of a tall thin woman, her hair plaited in two braids beneath a cap, hovering a few inches off the ground behind me.

"Can't you show at least _some_ kind of consideration?" I demanded her then, wiping off the ink on my chin in slight indignation.

The ghost just gave a short laugh. "Of course. My apologies. I thought I'd check on you."

"Check on me? On whose behalf, if applicable?"

"Proctor's." The ghost shrugged and crossed her arms then. "If you ask me, I think he had a soft spot for you."

"Oh. How surprising," I responded rather dryly then. I couldn't imagine one of the original Salem ghosts becoming fond of someone they've only met for a few minutes 24 hours ago.

The ghost shrugged again and floated towards the crystal ball on my table. "So, you're a medium?"

"Apparently so. It was the final role in the register."

"You do know that it is an advantageous role if somehow, the killers avoid you and the doctor saves you every time. Or if a bodyguard shows up and fends off your attacker," the ghost said. "Let's just hope that tonight, luck has it that a doctor shows up should you get attacked, or you get jailed for the night."

I couldn't help but stare at the ghost in slight intrigue. Somehow she knew what was going on with everyone here in Salem; perhaps she was meant to be a mentor, of a sort? Then again, very rarely do the actual ghosts of Salem ever talk to the medium on the very first night.

"Oh, pardon me. I don't believe I introduced myself," the ghost realized then, chuckling and holding a hand out. "Betty Parris, daughter of Samuel Parris and cousin of Abigail Williams."

I stared at her hand for a moment before eventually grasping it as well and shaking it firmly. "Brianne Lawson. Nice to meet you."

Just then, there came a knock at the door, followed by a gruff voice that made me jump. "Brianne? I would like to speak with you, please."

I turned to look at Betty for a moment before hesitantly drawing back, gripping onto the back of my wooden chair. "What do you need?" I asked, as loudly as I dared.

"I would like to interrogate you, miss."

Oh. So a sheriff had come by. I nodded as I approached the door, somewhat relieved to see the sheriff with his shining badge stuck on his chest standing at my door. Well, of course I'd be relieved. If it was someone with a gun, or a knife, I'd probably run around and screech.

"Hello," I greeted him cautiously.

The sheriff nodded as he took out his notebook. "Right. So. I need to check that you're not a Serial Killer or a Mafia. Do you have any proof?"

"Certainly." I lead him inside and showed him my desk space-my empty will, my quill dripping ink onto the carpet floor, and my crystal ball. "This is all I have."

The sheriff took a quick look around the desk space, examining the crystal ball and my will to make sure there was no blood over the evidence. Then he scribbled something down in the notebook and nodded to me once more. "Thank you very much, Brianne. I had put you down as not suspicious." With that, he tipped his hat to me and left.

Even if a sheriff had just visited me, I wasn't ready to let myself off so easy. I let out a slow sigh and slumped back in my chair, the painful impact from hitting the seat jolting me temporarily out of my tired state. I pulled my quill towards me then and began to write down a few words.

 _To the people of the town, and to anyone hearing this will of mine,_

 _My name is Brianne, and I am only a seventeen-year-old who had lost her freedom the moment she was chosen to be a medium in this year's Games..._


	5. Chapter 5

It was the rooster's crowing that awoke me from the slumber I never knew I fell into.

My eyes slowly opened to reveal the crimson expanse accentuated with fiery orange streaks that draped over the sky, the sign that another day had finally dawned in Salem. Black ink drip stains seeped right into the carpet floor beneath me, and I glanced down at my quill, now completely unloaded. The fact that even I could see what laid before me shocked me, and I glanced down at my dress, shocked to see no other blood wounds soaking through.

Somehow, I made it through the first night. The medium's curse did not affect me.

The same couldn't exactly be said for everyone else. As I headed out of my house, tying my bonnet securely behind my head, I glanced about to see what happened last night while I was asleep and was shocked to see Drew laying in a fetal curl on the ground, her dark brown hair splayed messily across the ground soaked with her own blood. A second glance told me that there was a dark blue ribbon tied in a fancy bow around her wrist, the satin surface gleaming in the sunlight, with her final will and death note tucked in the crook of her elbow resting close to her chest.

Just to minimize confusion in the Salem Games whenever deaths came around, the killers would be given coloured ribbons based on their killing roles, and once they made a successful kill they would tie one strand round their target's wrist. The Mafia would get red ribbons, the Serial Killer dark blue, the Arsonist (which happens very rarely) orange, and the Vigilante and Veteran green. To distinguish between the town killing roles, their abbreviations would be written in white ink over each ribbon strand. My mouth hung open at the sight, and I felt my knees weaken, threatening me to collapse on the ground right then and there. Already, we already had one dead person.

Already, someone was gone.

The rest of the town soon came filing out of their houses, most of them looking rather stoic upon seeing the dead body but others looking close to fainting, like me. Strong arms soon supported me from behind and I glanced back to see Justin lifting me onto my feet, a look of concern spread over his face.

"You okay, Brianne?" he asked.

Even if he was technically still a stranger, I've known him a little just to know that he was a nice person. This was enough for me to give him a nod in response, giving him a small smile. "Yeah. I'm okay."

"Look." Peter spoke up then as he picked up the will and death note left by the Serial Killer, easing it from Drew's arm and unfolding both of them. "Here's Drew's last will."

* * *

 _Dear town,_

 _I can't believe I have made myself look this beautiful only to work for the baddies. I don't care if I'm speaking shit about my team, but I just want it all to stop. For years, I've constantly been used just for looking beautiful, and I hate it. Modelling and endless popularity could only have so amazing of a revelation before it all goes down to dust. Why can't anyone just understand it?_

 _One of these days, someone would realize me for me. Someone would know what I am. I'm just Drew. I'm just another girl who's trying to feel comfortable in her own shoes rather than have other people stuff me in the shoes that won't fit. I don't want any more of this torture. I just want to be loved for me. Is that too much to ask for?_

 _At least I can die knowing that it would all stop. So thank you, Salem, for giving me this opportunity to die. Somehow, I ended up distracting the Serial Killer, and I'm grateful for that. So yeah. Consider me a girl in heaven who's finally, finally happy._

 _-Drew_

* * *

"And the death note?" Nathan asked.

Peter's face hardened as he read the death note. _"No one gives a shit about you, stupid bitch."_

"And the role?" Gwen inquired, tilting her head.

"Consort." Peter had to bite his lip as he said this, sighing and furling the will back up. "I really don't know what to say to this, honestly. I mean, one member of the Mafia's gone. Who knows how many more there are?"

"Not to mention there's a Serial Killer on the loose," Klaus added with a slight shiver, his glasses slipping from his nose. "Gives me all the more reason to worry."

Well, Drew's role would have made sense. Escorts and Consorts were the only roles known to stop others from fulfilling their role attributes for the night. The only difference was that Consorts worked for the Mafia, and Escorts worked for the town. Both were pretty vulnerable, however, to anyone who was on the loose ready to kill them without a warning. And I didn't mean block their roles as in arrest them. I meant the other way. They'd lure them into their sexual spell and whisper sweet nothings that would induce the target into-

"Anyone have leads?" Evelyn finally spoke up, raising her hand. "I mean, yeah, it is pretty early in the morning and all, but we need something to work with. We need someone to tell us if someone's working for the Town, or is working with the killers."

No one spoke for a moment. All the sheriff had was me, and I wasn't suspicious. At least I wasn't listed as suspicious. Then again, it scared me for a fact that everyone was completely clueless as to whether their next door neighbour was truly their friend or their enemy.

"None that I know," James said with a shake of his head then, interrupting the tense silence that hung in the air. "Last night I camped outside Charity's house, and no one visited her."

"I observed Evelyn," Alana spoke up. "She's either a forger, vampire, or an amnesiac. At least from my observations."

"How can we believe you?" Klaus inquired, turning to Alana. "What are you?"

"Dude. You really don't know how to play this game, don't you?" Alana retorted, clicking her tongue in slight annoyance. "I'm investigator. _Duh."_

"Okay, okay. Enough with all the rolling of the eyes and stuff," Peter said, waving his arms in an attempt to break up the commotion. "We'll discuss roles and everything later."

"No!" Trixie suddenly exclaimed, stomping her foot in indignation. "No! There's no time for that. We have to get someone up to the podium, now!"

"Certainly. Hmm. How about we get one of the silent people up there?" Gwen suggested. "I mean, sure, we're too early into it, but let's respect the eight-year-old."

This made me turn to her in shock and fury. "So you'd rather listen to an eight-year-old over your own conscience?" I asked her. "What _are_ you?"

Gwen simply shrugged in response. "I refuse to tell you. Besides, like Peter said, it's too early to tell roles."

"Uh huh. And Alana just revealed that she was investigator," Sam said, a slight slur in his voice as he waved his empty bottle of beer. "At least she's brave enough to say something."

Being brave enough to claim your role and being brave enough to lie about your role were two different things altogether, but I wouldn't dare tell a drunk person that. After all, who knew if she was right? If Evelyn truly was either a forger, or vampire, or amnesiac...what were the chances of one of these roles actually being involved in the game?

"Oh damn it all," Hans finally said, shaking his head and raising his hand. "I'd say we'd give Drew a proper burial and then-"

"Shut up, Hans. No one wants your opinion," Gwen snapped. "Forget the damn burial. We're not here to worship the dead, especially since she was a member of the freaking _Mafia._ I'd say we head straight into the voting."

"Are you insane?" Justin spoke up. "So you're just going to leave Drew's bloody body here, hoping that she'd see her killer get avenged?"

"It's already enough that she had thoughts on suicide!" Rachael screeched before Gwen could interject again. "She got what she wanted, thanks to the Serial Killer! So just leave it be and get someone up on the damn podium!"

Well, I wasn't expecting it all to happen so soon, but the Game had to go on. I nodded as I pulled out a slip of paper from my dress and wrote down one name on it with a pencil.

 _Rachael._

As the votes were gathered up, the bell near Gwen's house rang, and Gwen was sent up to trial. With her head bowed, she slowly headed up to the centre platform and faced the town.

The voting system in the Games differed greatly from the way it worked in the online game. While online you had the entire roster on your screen where a single click of a button beside a player's name counted as a vote-or three, once you've revealed yourself as the mayor-here, you had to write down a single name of the person you wanted to send to trial. Once enough slips had been submitted, the host would count them and ring the bell of the house that belonged to the person who got the most slips. It wasn't like the online game at all in this sense. Here, every day was voting day.

"Look, I didn't mean to target Drew like that. I'm sure she would have been a wonderful person outside of Salem," Gwen said with a shake of her head. "And I most certainly didn't mean to put pressure on all of you for agreeing with Trixie. I just wanted to see which one of us was truly the Mafia, guilty enough to have lost one of their own."

This was the true trouble here in Salem. No one knew who was lying, and who was being honest. She could have been putting up such a great act that anyone would have considered it to be so genuine, only to continue pulling up horrible deeds that would harm the town. Who knew what her intentions were?

"The town would determine Gwen's verdict," the host finally said from a loudspeaker. "All those who vote her innocent?"

This was a tricky one. I trusted her. I truly did. At least the conversation already put a few town roles out of the way, but who knew if she was actually a killing role? I eventually put my hand up, as did Justin, Charity, Sam, Hans, and Nathan.

"And all those who vote her guilty?"

I wasn't surprised to see Trixie's hand shoot up in the sky, along with Alana's and Peter's and Rachael's. That meant a few of us had abstained. Either way, Gwen was spared, and she headed off the platform while a second voting round went up.

This time, it was Rachael who went up to the platform. "Seriously, guys? Seriously? I only just said a few words and you decide to take it as though I've dissed some shit?" she demanded. "What's wrong with all of you?"

"Guilty," Peter declared then. "Guilty as charged."

"Aye," said Charity. "I agree."

"What's your role anyway, Rachael?" Trixie asked.

Rachael blanched at the question. "Um. Well, I...I'm survivor, you see. I just want to live."

Survivor? Survivor claims never worked on any member of the Mafia. Even though Gwen was the one who really blew some shit up, I didn't believe a single word Rachael said from all the screeching earlier. I voted guilty once the chance came up, and in the end, the guilty outweighed the innocent.

"You'll pay for this, stupid town!" Rachael finally shrieked as the roped nose slipped around her neck. "You'll pay big time if you lose!"

Next moment, the noose tightened as the stool was kicked away. All that remained of the screeching teenage brat was a lifeless corpse.

 _"We could not find a last will. Rachael's role was Survivor."_

Surprisingly, I did not feel any immediate resentment with that piece of knowledge. Little did I know, however, just how greatly it would impact me once the sun set once more.


	6. Chapter 6

Typically, in the online game, the moment a person was hanged the next night would immediately commence. But since everyone was going by real time here, we still had a few hours to recoup before the night hit once more.

I turned away from Rachael's lifeless swinging corpse on the gallows then and headed back inside my house, putting away all of my equipment-will, crystal ball and all-in a nearby dresser. There was no need for any of that while the day was still light. After all, it would take a while for the spirits to ascend to heaven or descend to hell. Only after that could they converse with the medium or discuss among themselves. With that in mind, I took off my bonnet and placed it by my bed, laying down on the mattress and closing my eyes. Drew's lifeless corpse on the ground flashed once behind my eyelids and I shivered, a sudden chill settling into my limbs.

Who knew what past we had all been through before we all ended up here? No one knew that Drew was very unsatisfied with her beautiful appearance. No one knew that she had been through so much trauma just because of her looks. I would admit that I, too, was jealous at first because of how amazing she looked. She even radiated with so much cheer when we got to know one another at the block party. Now I realized what she had been through, but it was too late. She's gone.

"Brianne?" A soft knock at the door, followed by Justin's voice, soon interrupted me from my thoughts. "May I come in?"

"Yeah. Come on in," I called, not bothering to open my eyes. Already, I wanted this to be over. I just wanted this to end soon and then get the hell out of here.

Slow footsteps echoed in the single-room shelter, stopping the moment they reached my bed. "You're not the only one feeling stressed about this, you know," Justin told me.

"Who said I was feeling stressed?" I groaned. "I'm not stressed. Just upset from the way things turned out, that's all."

"I understand." I felt the bed dip slightly, and I knew Justin probably sat down at the edge of it. "Drew probably didn't deserve it. Being here only to be chosen to work for the Mafia."

 _No one deserved being here at all in the first place,_ I thought bitterly, giving a low sigh as I sat up, facing him. "I'd figure we all end up as their poor unfortunate souls. Whoever the 'they' would be, anyway," I muttered, my tone a bit more hostile than usual. Perhaps it was from the sudden suspicion that he could be a member of the Mafia talking to me. Or the Serial Killer.

Justin didn't reply immediately to that. His expression turned rather wistful, his face scrunched up slightly in thought. "Do you think..." he started, his voice trailing off as he looked away, outside my window. "Do you really think they actually chose us randomly? Whoever the 'they' would be?"

This was something I've never thought of before. I always thought the players were chosen randomly from all over the world. But why would they even be chosen in the first place? What was the point? Suddenly, the comparison with _The Hunger Games_ no longer made any sense.

"I...I don't believe so. Not now, at least since you brought it up," I answered softly. "I thought everyone was chosen randomly. But it seems pretty impossible considering the population of the entire world. Choosing people from within the country already seems like a feat."

"Whatever their reasons are, I don't like them," Justin murmured, bringing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them, a sudden shudder making him shiver against his will. "I probably wouldn't admit it to anyone else, but...I'm scared, Brianne. Every single year, when I watch this, it makes me sick. You'd think in the online game we all get the chance once we die to join a new game, a new town, and try again with a new role. But in reality, you only get one shot. And once you die, you die. There's no reset. There's no 'try again'."

"I guess neither of us wanted to screw up. None of us do, anyway." I scooted closer to him then, tilting my head to look him in the eye. "But the Games...they all work with those rules. No one knows what'll happen next. Everything's all so unpredictable."

 _Unpredictable._ The very word suddenly made my thoughts screech to a sudden halt. If everything was unpredictable, then did that mean that everything was basically out of our control? There were things that happened in consequence to our actions, and while we had control over our actions we had none over the reactions that would follow. But would reactions still be classified as actions-just not stemmed from the thoughts that take over the brain of the individual who committed the act that caused the reactions to follow?

"Yeah." Justin nodded thoughtfully at this again and turned to me. "So it also happens with our lives outside of Salem. Every day we're constantly judging others, wondering if they're a nice person or an evil person and all that would happen to them in the future. I think...I think the Games are completely limiting the scope in which we base on our perceptions."

If that's the case, then there was no way that the players could have been chosen randomly. Online users would randomly join a lobby not knowing what other people would join them, but they'd do so on their own will. We didn't choose to be here, so why would we be chosen? If only John Proctor's words made a bit more sense.

"Well, I wouldn't think too much about it. Just hope that no one ends up resenting us long enough to kill us," I brought up then, dropping my gaze as his eyes seemed to sear right into mine. "I think we'll be okay. Or at least you will, if you're..." This time it was my turn to trail off.

"Not town-aligned? Nah. I promise you I am," Justin reassured me with a small smile, gently placing a hand on my shoulder. "What about you?"

I nodded, a little stunned with the gesture, though surprisingly so. "Me too."

"Then let's hope the Town wins this game," he said firmly. "If we do, it would be a quick one."

It had been hours since Justin left, and soon the sun had set once more, cuing in another night. I quickly looked out my window once at the deep purple twilight sky before grabbing my equipment-final will, crystal ball-and putting away my cell phone, a little despaired for the fact that there was no mobile signal in the arena. No way was I going to contact anyone outside of this place now.

Before I could do anything else, however, I heard a sudden whoosh of wind, followed by the creaking of a door opening. An eyebrow immediately raised as I stood up, taking a few steps away from my desk. "Hello? Who's there?"

Silence rang for a moment. Then there came a click, followed by a sudden bang of the gunshot.

It didn't take me long to realize there was now a bullet in my abdomen.


	7. Chapter 7

My body reacted before my mind could comprehend what happened, and I slumped against the leg of my desk, fingers clutching against the slippery crimson blossom blooming over my clothes and staining the fabric. Every movement brought a hiss of pain to my lips, my body curling in instinctively as if that alone could ease the agony coursing through my limbs. Funny how a small little metal object, embedded deep into my flesh, could possibly be the very thing that could end the innocence that spelled my past, the life that brought me to my feet, light as they skipped and hopped over the earth. It didn't matter who did it. After all, I was going to die soon.

 _My name is Brianne, and I am only a seventeen-year-old who had lost her freedom the moment she was chosen to be a medium in this year's Salem Games. I thought I could make it this far, being someone who had known and played and won numerous games online. Now, I realized that immediate reality is nothing like online fantasies. You can't get up and try again. No matter how badly you wanted to avoid death, death in some way could catch up to you. And to all I never got the chance to speak to, to all those whose cries in vengeance were never heard, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I never got that opportunity to get to know you before I, in some way, killed you too._

I was so focused on the dulling pain spreading through my body, blurring and mushing together the rushing torrent of thoughts, that I didn't hear the door burst open, a doctor rushing through as he saw me lying on the ground in pain.

"Brianne?"

Why did the voice sound so familiar? I glanced up and was met with green-grey eyes behind a doctor's goggles, a mask over his mouth and his hair hidden under a cap. He quickly pulled on a pair of gloves and took out a few tools from his small canvas bag, poring over the wound in my torso, and all the while I tried to rack my brains. Why did he sound so familiar?

"Hmm. I don't know why the Mafia would try to get at you so early, but this isn't something I can't fix. Just hang on," he pleaded softly as he began to work at the wound, easing the bullet out of my stomach while pressing cleaning alcohol wipes against the wound. "Hang on."

His probing at my wound made me hiss even more in pain, but eventually the metal object finally made its way out of my stomach, leaving more room for blood to pool over the ground. The doctor took out a pair of scissors and cut a few scraps from my dress, then whipped out a needle and thread and began to stitch the wound back together, leaving me screaming every time I felt the tip of the needle jab into my flesh.

"I'm sorry," he continuously apologized, quickly picking up the pace until I felt something knot at my stomach, and I glanced down to see the fine stitches holding my flesh together. A wad of gauze was soon pressed at the wound, and then he gently pulled away the top of my dress to reveal the rest of my torso, which he bandaged with a long roll of sterile fabric.

For a few moments, neither of said anything. I glanced up from the wound, all bandaged up, to the doctor who had just healed me, a little amazed that he somehow knew that tonight I would be attacked. "You didn't have to apologize for anything," I finally told him, my voice slightly hoarse after all the screaming. "You saved my life."

The doctor only chuckled then, a warm one that made me smile too. "It was nothing, Brianne. No need to thank me. Just don't move around too much for the rest of the night. The pain will be gone by the morning." He got up then and checked his watch. "I better get out of here before the Mafia attack again, or much worse, the Serial Killer."

"Wait." I raised a hand, stopping him quickly as he turned. "I can't get up."

"Course you can. Here." The doctor took off his gloves and held a hand out to me, which I quickly grabbed. The sudden force from him pulling me up made me overbalance slightly and I fell into his arms, my face slightly flushed and hot.

 _Oh god._

"Sorry," we both blurted out at the same time.

"It's no problem," I said as I righted myself, not even knowing I was still gripping onto his hand. "Thank you."

The doctor grinned. "Just doing my job." He then let go of my hand and gave a wave. "I'll see you in the morning."

I nodded and waved back as he left, my entire body radiating with a strange warmth. As my hand grazed over the bandage he wrapped around my waist, I felt touched. No one had ever done such a thing to me before. I just wished I knew who he was.

"Brianne? You okay?"

The sound of Betty Parris addressing me made me jump again, and I winced at the pain that seized at my stomach, doubling over as I sat down.

"Sorry. Yeah. Mafia got me." I held up my wrist, surprised at the absence of the crimson ribbon I had expected to see there. Then I realized that they don't tie the ribbon there until they were sure their target was dead.

"You're safe, then. And the doctor was pretty nice, at least." Betty smiled too as she gestured to my crystal ball. "Now come on. Let's get started with your night as medium."

I nodded and, without another word, began to wave my hands over the crystal ball. A couplet, unbidden, began to flow from my lips, almost in a hoarse chant.

 _Spirits of the damned, I command thee, arise  
And tell me what you know and saw with your eyes._

The spirits of Drew and Rachael then rose from the graveyard by my window, and they floated right into my room, Drew looking relieved, and Rachael looking rather miffed.

"Oh, thank goodness you're medium!" Drew cried, a smile broken over her face the minute she saw me. "I was beginning to wonder whether I'd have to deal with another..." She shuddered, and her ghostly form flickered. "Another bitch."

"What makes you-oh." I nodded in understanding. "I heard your will when Peter read it out to the town. I'm so sorry that happened to you, Drew."

"It's okay. At least now I know that there are some good people in the world," Drew said then. "Good, considerate people. Not like Gwen, at the very least."

"Gwen? What's wrong with Gwen?"

"I know her personally, way before the Games," she began. "She was a good person at first-and that was when we were in grade school. We would go over to each other's houses, hang out and have a good time playing Town of Salem together. Or just gossiping about boys and things in life. You know, just doing the things teenage girls do. But then she changed when we entered middle school. Gwen started becoming more distant and bossy towards me. She didn't accept the fact that I wanted to change. I didn't want to be used just for my looks. I didn't want to be liked just because I look so naturally pretty." She sniffled, and Rachael quickly wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "So she began to force me to do things for her. Talk to boys, go out with them on her behalf, have them rape me and assault me to the point where I can't take it anymore. Last night, I didn't even listen to her. I went to the Serial Killer on my own."

"Wait. So you're saying that-"

"Gwen's the godfather," Drew confirmed for me. "Or godmother, however you want to take it."

To hear this story from her made me want to fire up and scream at the world for all its injustice. Why did they have to be given these roles? What made them determine what kind of people we should even be in this Town? And here I was, sitting in my own little house, thinking that Gwen was an innocent soul who just loved to have a good time. No wonder Drew looked uncomfortable every time Gwen approached her.

"I don't blame you for lynching me, Brianne," Rachael then brought up, her eyes swimming with tears. "I do tend to yell a lot whenever I'm upset."

I shook my head at Rachael. "No, it was my fault. I shouldn't have been this quick to judge."

"While we're here, I can give you the scoop on the Serial Killer," Drew piped up. "The most I know is that she's short."

"Wait. The Serial Killer's a girl too?" I asked, a little stunned to hear this. Why did most of the evil roles have to land with the girls?

"Yeah. That much I know. Apart from the fact that she ties pretty good bows," she added, waving her wrist where the dark blue ribbon was still tied. "Just be really wary about it, Brianne. Gwen's the godfather. But I don't have that much information on the Serial Killer. Keep that in mind, and try to get the Serial Killer first."

I nodded then, holding out a hand for Drew. "I promise I'll expose Gwen the first chance I get. It's a friend's promise."

And as I felt her cold hand wrap around my own, I felt the warm pressure of friendship seep through my limbs as well as the determination to stop the evil from taking over the town.

There was no way the villains would win this.


	8. Chapter 8

Two more bodies were added to the graveyard the very next morning.

"Who the hell would, in the right mind, attack a poor amnesiac?" Nathan demanded, lifting his head up from Evelyn's body as he removed her final will and the death note from the crook of her arm. "This freaking Serial Killer, I swear, has a problem."

"Well, so does the Veteran!" Klaus noted, pulling out the final will from James' body, and I was quick to notice the bright green ribbon tied around James' wrist, the white letters VET deeply embossed in the satin surface. "And to think he would attack a lookout, too! What was the Veteran even thinking?"

No one spoke a word as both of their wills were read out.

* * *

 _I'll admit that I'm probably the stupidest person ever to come here. But I've been living a poor life where I'm from. You'd expect a person from Brazil to be the most knowledgeable when it comes to living in such a diverse cultural country, but in reality, I've barely been scraping by. Coming here as an Amnesiac, I've always wondered how exactly I would live my final days. Unfortunately, Consort and Survivor just won't work out for me. I'd die easily with those two roles anyway. Well, either way now, I guess my future would always remain nonexistent. I'm sorry. And I would like to leave everything to my younger sister, Yvonne. She would need my textbooks and teddy bear more than I._

 _~Evelyn_

* * *

 _I'm James. Lookout. Constantly keeping an eye out for everything and anything that happens. I guess that's what runs in the family, though, keeping an eye out for each other. Since my older brother died from a car crash, it's kind of expected from the incident that we'd be more cautious and look out for one another, especially making sure that we stay together and stay safe. And it's no different here. I'm just looking out for the town. I'm looking out for the people I should care for. But at least I'm with my brother in hopefully what could be heaven. And I'm sorry for everything-every word I never got to say, every tear I never shed. Know that up here, I'm shedding them now, for you, and for me._

* * *

"You know what, screw the Veteran who tried to kill his own townspeople for now," Peter suggested quietly. "Let's just focus on the other things. Who tried to kill the Amnesiac? And last night he-or she-killed the Consort too."

"According to what I heard from Drew last night, the Serial Killer might be Trixie." I glanced over at the little girl on my right, the little girl who looked so innocent and naive every day. The possibility of her being the Serial Killer sounded a little queer. What were the chances that she could wield a knife and kill her targets without carelessly hurting herself? I couldn't even hold a pair of scissors at that age without cutting myself in the process. Well, that was, if I didn't hold it the safe way.

"Trixie?" Klaus raised an eyebrow at this, a little skeptical now at my claim. "What role are you, Trixie?"

"I'm the doctor, duh." Trixie smiled rather proudly, straightening up a little taller at her claim. "I can heal others at night!"

I glanced over at Justin as she said this, eyebrows raised slightly. She wasn't being serious, was she? The doctor who healed me last night was a boy, not a girl. Besides, I doubted that Trixie had enough knowledge to work the right tools. Like I said, I couldn't even hold a pair of scissors unsafely without cutting myself when I was eight years old. What tools could be trusted to a child? Tools could still be weapons if used incorrectly, or purposely for evil purposes.

"You sure about that?" Sam asked, his voice wavering with the alcohol that must have been drowning his entire system. "You look a li'l young to be seeing all that blood and mutilated flesh."

To this, Trixie blanched, a little shocked that she'd be asked this. "Wh-of course! Of course I'm the doctor! What else could I even be, the freaking _Serial Killer?_ Or even worse, the _Veteran_ who would kill his own town members?"

"Okay, okay." This time, it was Charity's turn to wave her hands and break up the commotion, and everyone turned to the old woman. "Guys, this is not the best time to put the blame on each other. Taichi always helps me get through the day! Come on, do it with me now!" And with that, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and began to move her arms like a slow motion fan.

"Cut it out, grandma." Hans glared once at the old woman before turning back to the group. "So, should we start voting people up any time soon? We need to find the Serial Killer who did all this before it's too late-and fast."

But Klaus wasn't exactly finished. "So what are you, then, Brianne, if you came up as not suspicious in my findings?"

So Klaus was the sheriff? I shouldn't have been surprised, yet I was. I glanced around uncertainly. "Um, I'm the medium. I talk to the dead at night."

"Yeah, right. Who in the world would believe a freaking _medium_ claim?" Peter asked, crossing his arms. "I don't believe it. For all I know, _you_ could have killed Drew and Evelyn."

"Why in the world would I do that?" I demanded him. "I would never hurt a single soul with my role."

"Liar." Peter glared long and hard at me, then pulled out a slip of paper from his pocket. "You're dead to me."

"Aye. I agree," Gwen said, and I jumped when I heard her speak. She had remained quiet for so long, I thought she would just let the day pass by while she looks at the failure of her supposed kill. That was, if Gwen really was the godfather, the founder and head of organized crime.

The rest of the town nodded as they wrote the names I could never see on their slips of paper, although I knew for sure that they'd be voting for me. No one would believe a medium claim. They'd be insane. Eventually, my sole vote for Peter made no difference. The bell over my door rang as the votes came in, and every head turned toward me.

I was now sent up for trial.


	9. Chapter 9

Being sent to the principal's office for doing something naughty was one thing. Being sent up to trial for telling nothing but the truth was another altogether. For all the years I've lived, I've never considered myself a convict, but now that the verdict was to be given sooner than expected, it was all I could do not to openly beg and plead for mercy as I reached the gallows in the centre of the town, mounting the platform and facing the others.

"Please. You have all made a mistake," I said. "I promise and swear that this was what the dead had told me. Besides, only the medium could do that. And I'm not an immune role. Last night, someone shot me and the doctor healed me. He stitched my wounds together and helped me get back to my duties. That's really the only reason why I'm still alive."

I didn't notice Justin blush slightly at the acknowledgement of the doctor healing me last night. I was too focused on trying to get out of this alive. Looking around at Gwen and Hans and Peter, I couldn't help but feel betrayed. But then again, what else would I expect? Not everyone here could be friends. There's no peace and rainbows in Town of Salem. And Evelyn and James' bodies were enough to prove that.

The rest of the town seemed to have noticed Justin blushing, though. "Aww, what's wrong with the English man?" Alana cooed mockingly. "Looks like he's got a crush."

"Wh-no. No, I don't." Justin blinked rapidly at her address and cleared his throat. "No. I, um. I was thinking back to last night too. She was right. I healed her. I'm the doctor. Not Trixie."

"The town will now determine Brianne's verdict," the host said then. "All in favour of pardon?"

Justin's hand shot up immediately, followed by Charity, Nathan, Klaus, Hans, and Sam. Glancing at the hands in the air made me feel grateful almost immediately-that was over half the town.

"And all those in favour of lynching?"

Not to my surprise, Gwen and Trixie's hands both shot up at the exact same time. Alana and Peter abstained, leaving me spared for another day. Relief instantly coursed through my veins, leaving me with a dazed warm smile spread over my face as I descended down the steps back onto the gravel path, standing in front of my door once more. At least they all knew that I was telling the truth. I could not stand being sent for punishment for doing something I didn't do.

Unfortunately, this meant that another voting session was up. This time, it was Justin who went up for trial, and so he went, his head bowed. I tried to catch his eye, a strange painful twinge in my heart threatening me to cry suddenly out of nowhere. He went all this way to save me only to be put up for trial himself? Why did this town have to be so stupid?

"Okay, wow. You must have got the wrong man!" he cried, shaking his head. "I'm telling the truth too. I was the one who healed Brianne last night! I'm the doctor-I'm the _real_ doctor here. You can't just put me up here and believe Trixie! If Brianne was right, if Drew was right, then Trixie is the one we need to look out for!"

This left a stunned silence in their wake, and everyone glanced at each other nervously. I was left clenching my fists, my hands at my sides as I awaited the final verdict. I wouldn't stand it if they believed the eight-year-old liar over him. I knew, and had always believed, that Justin was the doctor who healed me last night.

"Some idiot. He's only saying this just to save Brianne," Gwen said airily, a slight mocking tone hinted in her voice. "As if we'd fall for that trap this time."

"He ain't drunk, but he's an honest man," Sam spoke up then. "I vote innocent for him."

In the end, Justin had received a majority innocent vote as well, and he stepped off the podium, smiling at me as he passed. I gave him a nod in return. This might call for another conversation on our own after this, it seemed.

Finally, the final convict to be called up was Peter. Unlike me and Justin, he didn't look the slightest bit bugged as he headed up the podium, his expression a little amused though slightly downcast and bored. It was as if he expected this to happen-the moment he would be called up to accept his fate as a convicted criminal.

"Ooh, well won't you look at that. All of you voting for me to be killed, hm? Well, I'll give you the scoop. As of now you are all screwing yourselves over for questioning each other's trust, so let me just say, _get this god damn lynching over with._ It's about time we get some real action going."

What kind of defense was that supposed to be? I glanced over at Justin again, eyebrows raised. "You think this is a jester defense?"

"It probably is. If he really wants to get himself killed, we can't give him that satisfaction," Justin murmured, shaking his head.

I wasn't surprised, however, to see Gwen, Alana, and Hans vote him guilty, as well as Sam and Klaus and Trixie. With no innocent votes to balance it out, Peter was hanged, but not before one last message was sent out to the entire town.

 _"The Jester will get his revenge from the grave."_

And this time, it was the Mafia who ended up being the laughingstock.

* * *

"Seems like they've got enough reason to target our throats now," I murmured, glancing over at Justin who shrugged. "Only one could die to the Jester, not all six of them."

The two of us were now at his house this time, waiting for the next night to begin as usual. Gwen wanted to talk with me after the voting, but I turned her company down. There always seemed to be something off about Gwen since the Games commenced, and not just because Drew told me she was the godfather. The unease even I started to feel around her made me dodge her completely as I went with Justin instead. At least I could trust him more. Besides, he saved my life.

"It all comes down to who the Jester wants, yes. But you're right. We're in greater danger now." Justin sighed and laid back on his bed, closing his eyes. "So how many people are left? Eleven?"

"There's no telling who's a part of the town and who isn't. And I couldn't even tell who tried to kill me last night. It had to be a member of the Mafia, though." I shuddered again as I curled up on his mattress. "No one else could have guns unless they are Vigilantes."

"Screw the whole Vigilante claim, then, if it came down to it. If the Mafia ended up killing people every night, then they couldn't have anything to say."

"True. But they didn't even kill the first night. Unless they somehow attacked another immune role," I contemplated. Then a horrendous thought came to me, and my eyes widened in shock. "You don't suppose there's an executioner or an arsonist around here, do you?"

"Anything can happen here. You never truly know," Justin said in a low voice. "But let's not worry about that right now. I'm just worried about...not making it alive, you know. We both went up on that platform today, and now I'm even more scared of going back there again. Even more so than just dying by a Serial Killer's blade or a Mafia's gun. And last night when I chose to visit you rather than heal myself..."

"Hey. You did the right thing. We'll just have to make sure the Mafia wouldn't get us again." I laid on the mattress next to him then and stared up at the ceiling for a moment before turning back to him. "And we won't let them get us. We can't."

"How can you be so sure?"

I smiled wryly, almost teasingly. "I've got the dead. With them, and your healing skills, we'll find every last villain if we had to."

This somehow seemed to reassure the both of us, and he nodded, his fingers gently tapping against my hand before interlacing loosely with my fingers, the backs of our hands touching just slightly. "Yeah. We will."

The slight fluttering in my chest that accompanied the gesture made me blush a little, and I only chuckled, leaning against his shoulder and closing my eyes too. Since my arrival in Salem, this was probably the most peace I've ever gotten.

I would never want it to end.


	10. Chapter 10

Unfortunately, not even the best of things could last forever.

The day soon wore on into the night, and by then I was back in my own house, chanting the same couplet once more as I waved my hands over my crystal ball.

 _Spirits of the damned, I command thee, arise  
And tell me what you know and saw with your eyes._

There probably wouldn't be much for them to say this time, but I still needed to confirm a few more things with them. With that, the ghostly figures of Drew, Rachael, Peter, Evelyn, and James all rose into the air, their expressions this time blank and completely void of emotion.

"That was...rather interesting," Rachael remarked in a slight undertone. "Didn't know the town would be this bitter against you."

To this, I shrugged. This was one reason I never won as the medium. Well, only on rare occasions I have. Otherwise, the town had been serious idiots. "Yeah, well. Things happen, and sometimes you end up being swayed long enough to be convinced of the wrong thing. Or at least that's the hope. One day they would be convinced that I'm not what they think I should have been."

"I suppose you have some explaining to do, Peter?" James fired then, glaring at the dead Jester while folding his arms in indignation. "Why would you be so suspicious of her?"

"As if you'd ask me," Peter responded airily, facing James with a glower. "You don't even _know_ her, so I wouldn't even talk if I were you."

"Oh shut up. I'd still trust her if I did," James muttered bitterly. Then he turned back to me. "Anyway-you're the medium, right? Brianne? Um. I visited Sam the night I was killed. Turned out he had his booby traps up and running. For a drunk guy, he was actually quite sharp."

"Wait. Sam's the veteran?" I repeated, a little appalled to hear this. Sam. Veteran. Sam the Veteran. The words just couldn't seem to ring sensibly in my mind.

James nodded. "Yeah. So I'd be careful if I were you. Just don't tread too far along his path, and you'd be fine. Besides that, I'm wondering whether he actually managed to sober up enough to have put up the trap. No hard feelings against him, honestly."

"Of course." I gave James a small smile then and turned back to the rest of them. Peter, at this moment, was arguing with Evelyn on who he should haunt for the night.

"No. I don't want you going after Alana! She still could be beneficial for the town if she said she truly was the Investigator," Evelyn was saying then.

Peter, on the other hand, looked a little miffed. "I don't know, Evelyn. Something about her seemed a little off. Besides, how could she have known that you were the amnesiac? She kind of sounded as if that was a fact. And she could have made up the other options on the spot."

"Typically that's what comes up for the investigator," I told Peter then. "For someone like Evelyn, the options would be amnesiac, forger, or vampire. Alana's right."

"Still, something seemed rather off about it. And I don't know whether it's just me or something, but I don't trust her. I'm siding with the town." Peter eventually sighed, an icy breath rolling out of his mouth almost freezing my face plunging my skin into negative temperatures. "Alright. I'm going for Alana. She most likely might be the Consigliere, not the Investigator. Or even witch, for that matter." He nodded solemnly, once, before leaving the group. "I'll be right back."

And before anyone could stop him, he was off to Alana's house.

"Figured," Evelyn muttered, clucking her tongue. "Though then again, completely unexpected. Did anyone expect to see the Jester hung on the second night? Normally they'd be hung near the end of the game."

"Honestly? Anyone could have seen it coming, town included," Drew responded. "I mean, sure, Peter was the one who read my will, and it was sweet and all. But he did seem a little cuckoo in the head trying to get the town to lynch Brianne."

To that, I snorted. "I'd suppose anyone would do anything to lynch the ones they just couldn't trust. Then again, come to think of it, Peter might be making the right choice after all."

A sudden breeze blew through the open window and doorway of my house just then, and I instantly jumped, shivering slightly. When did the air suddenly drop to negative temperatures in the middle of summer? In an environment like this, something just didn't seem normal. Suddenly, I felt the urge to change into another dress before the exposure of my wound got the better of me, and gave the killers an advantage to attack again. I grabbed another dress from the rack-a dark blue one with ruffles on the sleeves and collar-before running to the bathroom and changing quickly.

"Brianne?" Evelyn called. Then I heard her sigh. "Well, you can't blame her. The Mafia did try to kill her last night."

"Sometimes I really think that this town is super dense," James murmured. "Would they really think that the eight-year-old little girl was telling the truth? She seems a little too young and naive."

"Then again, that's the point. Any child would do anything to make their parents believe their lies at times. And then we have the older people-the more rational people, sensible enough to tell the truth-and no one listens to them."

"I'd consider it a problem. The older we get, the less believable we are."

Eventually, I emerged from the bathroom to see Peter having rejoined the group and the other ghosts talking in low voices. "So, I suppose the deed is done?" I asked Peter, sitting back down at my desk smoothing my dress.

Peter nodded. "I've haunted Alana. Her spirit would join us tomorrow in the grave."

"Alright then." I nodded at Peter and glanced at the other ghosts, removing my bonnet with a slight sigh. "Here's to hoping that we've haunted the right person."

* * *

To my utter surprise as I exited the house the next morning, three bodies were littered on the ground, flung uselessly against the gravel paths outside their houses. First, I recognized the broken glasses lying right next to Klaus' body, a puddle of blood pooling beneath his sweater and jeans. It wasn't hard to notice the dark blue ribbon tied around his wrist. The second body belonged to Alana, her body as pale as the platinum blonde hair on her head tied in a high ponytail in a pink ribbon that I knew Peter must have tied. Then the final body made my throat constrict, and I almost stopped breathing. A body lying limply right next to me, his dark brown hair strewn with blood, a scarlet ribbon tied onto his wrist and his eyes closed, completely void of life itself...

And just as the rooster crowed, I screamed his name.

 _"JUSTIN!"_


	11. Chapter 11

The scent of smoke was all I could smell for the next few moments, my mind completely zoned out of the discussion and the eventual lynching that followed. All I could see was the mutilated body that laid sprawled beside me and the brightly lit flames that, just last year, ate my father alive.

It may have been some time since, but I still remembered the incident as clear as day. He too was once chosen for the Salem Games as the Vigilante, and three days into the competition his shots had been flawless, having taken down a Witch and a Blackmailer. However, just after he used his last bullet on a Vampire, the Arsonist ignited his house, along with several others. I remembered staying awake just to watch him shoot the law breakers, constantly sitting on the edge of my seat hoping that he wouldn't have to shoot himself for killing the wrong person. All that was returned to us at the end, when the Town had claimed its victory, was nothing but his ashes. It was all I had left of my father, the one person who used to take such good care of me, who used to hold my hand on walks when I was younger and help me with tricky algebra problems and make the most amazing chicken sub sandwiches.

This was one incident I never told either Rena or Luke, although every time they brought up the Vigilante, I had to cover my ears and tune out. And to think my father was doing so well! I honestly felt the need to scream for the fact that the Arsonist then was actually his closest colleague at work and his greatest rival from his university years-friendly, but competitive. What was it all for? What was all the killing for? Why did we have to put aside everything we once were just to survive and win?

Surely Justin and I weren't as close as my father and I, but he was the only close friend I had here-the only one I could trust out of the entire town. Losing him was like losing the only anchor I had to surviving the horror that hung around Salem, the terror that was friend turning on friend and betrayal being the cause of everyone's deaths. He was probably my only true ally apart from the dead people I chat with every night, and even he was now gone.

"There, there, dear. Everything will be alright."

A second glass of milk and a third plate of biscuits was plopped in front of me, though amidst the tears they looked like shapeless blobs of light and dark colours resembling the completely black and white setup of the town, so completely one-sided and conflicted whenever discussions arose. Certainly we had managed to hang Hans, who was discovered to be the Mafioso thanks to the Sheriff's discoveries recorded on his will, and we had all discovered that Alana was in fact the Consigliere, as Peter had assumed-but that was not enough for me. I couldn't even pay any attention to the conversation today because of Justin's death. If only I could just whip out my cell phone and call Rena this very instant. A distraction was all I needed, not cookies and tea simply offered to give me a useless condolence.

I was not going to doubt Charity's ability to whip up comfort food, however. Despite the barrier of blandness that formed over my taste buds, the almond cookies were actually rather scrumptious.

"Loss is never an easy thing to get over, dear. I knew you two were very close," Charity said to me then, a sympathetic smile stretched over her wrinkled face. She then sat down beside me with a cup of tea in her hand, sipping it slowly.

I said nothing. My mind flashed back to the fire that consumed my father, the vial of ashes that was sent back to me and my mother upon conclusion of the previous Games. Such a bright thing could be so deadly and so monstrous-it was the one reason now I feared fire so much. Though the tiny flickering flame on a candle seemed calming enough, anything bigger than that would make me go paranoid. It didn't even serve me enough justice that the Arsonist last year was hanged after. All I wanted was my father back, and there was no retributionist last year to do it.

"I never asked for condolences," I muttered, blinking out the tears that threatened to escape my eyes. "I just-I don't know. Justin and I don't even know each other well. Yet it seems like I've known a lot about him in such a short time and...he saved my life, Charity, and on way more than just one occasion."

In all due respect, wishing for someone dead to return is just a selfish thought. Childish, even, if one doesn't learn to move on from it and do something else that would help them get over it. But all I could feel was an emptiness, slight hollowness within my throat threatening me to choke on excessive air. I never got over my father's death, not even after the ashes were buried in my backyard under the tire swing he built for me when I was a little girl. Then my cheeks burned as my thoughts strayed to Justin, and I put the slowly crumbling cookie back down on my plate, wiping away the crystalline tears beginning to flow. Such a selfless person, someone who chose to rush by and help me with the wound the Mafia inflicted over my skin and then save me from having to be lynched, should never be forgotten in anyone's memory. It was guilt that weighed me down then; I could not do anything to save him in return.

"I understand, dear. He was a brave soul. But you must know that despite all that everyone had gone through, life moves on. He wouldn't want you to weep like this, eh?" Charity chuckled and nudged me gently. "Come on. Let's go do some taichi together."

Taichi. Now that was the one reason I could really trust Charity.

* * *

 _A hidden figure slipped through the shadows that evening, hidden from the light cast above every door in the town. Glancing around to make sure no Serial Killer or Mafia were after him, he swiftly fled on light feet, treading softly until he reached the graveyard. The names of the dead, Mafia and Town and Neutral aligned all alike, were deeply engraved in the stone that commemorated the places where their bodies now laid. But tonight, one of them would be alive once more._

 _Tonight, one of them would be given a second chance at life._

 _Slowly, he made his way to doctor's grave. Such a tragedy for this young surgeon to undergo such an ordeal, so quick and painful. Somewhere out there, his family would be weeping for him, desperately hoping that he'd return. Somewhere in this town, a girl would be crying for her loss of a friend-a close one, too, who had saved her more than once. He felt a twinge strum at his heart as he raised his hands over the doctor's tomb._

 _Just as the doctor's corpse had risen once more, the figure suddenly gasped and slumped forward, his eyes registered on a little girl with blonde pigtails gleaming in the moonlight holding a knife and wearing an evil smirk on her face._

 _"Doctor..." the figure murmured with his final breath before dying altogether._


	12. Chapter 12

"And out of all the other people they could have resurrected, they chose the lovesick doctor?"

I wasn't surprised to hear that coming from Gwen the moment we all congregated once more in the town the next morning, Nathan's body lying against the ground as if he had slumped there in exhaustion. A dark blue ribbon, tied in a neat bow, shone on his wrist, and I had to shake my head. Only a Serial Killer would do this...and till now, we had no idea who it was.

"Though somehow, on the plus side..." Charity gestured to the house beside mine, and I turned, almost jumping out of my skin. Standing right beside me, smiling and chuckling and breathing as if he never had died the last night, was Justin.

It took all my will not to throw my arms around him the moment I saw him. So it was confirmed, then-there was a retributionist here who had used his one and only chance for Justin, the boy who saved my life more than once. Even I had to owe everything to the Retributionist who revived him, resurrected him and gave him a second chance. However, it was later revealed that shortly after the resurrection, a Serial Killer killed him.

"So Nathan was the Retributionist. Interesting." Charity clucked her tongue and scratched her chin then in thought. "We need to get rid of the Serial Killer, and pronto. The only problem is, who is it?"

All heads turned toward me then-the only person whose role claim at this point was very much questionable. Instinctively, I raised my hands in the air, shaking my head as Klaus' voice entered my mind. "Guys, no need to suspect me," I told them, almost at the sheer point of incredulity for all the lack of belief that rang in the town. "I swear I am what I claimed I am. And the dead sheriff confirmed it too-Trixie's the Serial Killer. We can't wait that out any longer."

I would not doubt Klaus' word for a second. For a young thirteen-year-old like him, he held so much authority, especially when it came to investigations and discoveries; such a reliable person, then, should never be doubted. And I never doubted him. Even if he told me that Gwen came up as non suspicious for him, I knew that he did his job well. I just hoped others watching this would see that and remember it.

"Are you sure that's what he said?" Trixie chirruped then, placing her hands on her hips. "What's his proof?"

"You can't hide behind this one, Trixie." Justin crossed his arms and shook his head. "The sheriff said it, and we've seen it. Even Nathan would have had his hunches if he was so certain in his will."

None of us noticed Sam stumble out of his house, drunk as usual, until we heard the smash of the beer bottle against the door frame and we all turned.

"These people don't even know how to have a good party!" he shouted, slurring most of the words together as he had suddenly turned rather incoherent. "That was my last stash of alcohol right there! Give me more to work with, will ya?"

And with that, he collapsed on the ground.

"Talk about a salty veteran," Gwen muttered, clucking her tongue. "But we have other pressing matters. First, the serial killer. And not to mention, what happened to all the Mafia?"

"That's a good question." I challenged her with a glare, crossing my arms. "Why don't I ask you? You were the one attacking the immune, weren't you?"

"What makes you assume that, little miss 'someone-help-me-and-preferably-a-doctor'?" Gwen retorted, spitting every word out to the point where I cringed, since her saliva spewed all over my face. "I'm just surprised that after all this time you're still not dead."

"I'd like to call it respect," I said airily, shrugging. "And as for you-"

"Enough." Charity's long glare told me to shut up before things got way out of hand with Gwen. "Let us not go too far with this. Otherwise, we would lose the main purpose of the Games."

Great. How many people here have ended up thinking that all that mattered was the role we played in the arena? This entire thing had, unknowingly, become a war, putting the best of us against each other, and for what? Everyone's just going to die. No one would ever live to tell the tale, and even if they did, they wouldn't do so without painful terrifying flashbacks to accompany their memories.

"Let's just get rid of the Serial Killer first. We'll figure out the others later," I promised everyone, waving my hands just to tone everything down. "There may still be a Mafia member left, for all we know. But we'll handle that later. The last thing we want is the bloody psychotic killer to win."

But even after Trixie's lynching, a small frail little body swinging on the gallows, I didn't feel at ease. Not even with Justin next to me rubbing my arm in reassurance could calm me down. It felt a little weird to think that a day ago he had completely stopped breathing, and now was alive and well once more.

"It's just the Mafia, and then we'll be out of here," Justin whispered. "The town will win, and we'll be going home free."

I wanted to believe that so badly. Truly, I did. After such a long time stuck in this town where nothing but shameless blaming and random shootings, there was nothing I wanted more than to get out of here. But it was hard to when one considered how many people would never make it out of the arena. Klaus, the responsible little boy who took his role as Sheriff so seriously and to heart. James, who had been looking out for the town since the first day. Nathan, the retributionist who had given his life up so Justin could walk the earth again. Even Drew, Rachael, Peter, Evelyn, and I had grown close while they were in their graveyards with only me as company in the night. They were gone forever. Gone, never to get another shot at life outside of Salem.

"They won't, though. They would never get another chance," I whispered back. "Not like you, anyway." It hurt to even think about it.

"Then we'll do something for the families. Honour them, and stop them from thinking about war," Justin suggested. "That would be the last thing anyone would want."

I knew that was true. Each year after the Salem Games, the threats of war would brew from at least one other country in the world. Since it was very rare that anyone from Canada ever participated, or was chosen to participate, this didn't affect us much. Still, it didn't stop us from gathering our weapons for a war on the rise-one that would shatter the entire world, beyond the arena in Salem.

"You think we were chosen to stop the war, then? Or is this something to do with Salem itself?" I asked, remembering how he speculated with the theory that maybe none of the people chosen for the Games were chosen at random.

Justin stopped rubbing my arm. He stared at me for a moment, a little incredulous at my probable stupidity, before wrapping his arms around me in a gentle hug.

"That's for you to find out. You're the medium, after all-the only bridge between life and death."

Tonight, I'd have to consult with the dead and ask them the things that would probably wound them. Maybe what I'd have in mind would hit a little too close to home for most. But for now I just let myself go, relaxing into Justin's embrace. This was one I knew I would never let go of no matter what dangers still laid ahead for the both of us.


	13. Chapter 13

As I headed back to my house to prepare for the next night, I was surprised to see Gwen approach me in a sprint, slightly breathless despite the short distance between our houses. At the sight of her, I turned around, crossing my arms. Surprised I was, but I couldn't say I was pleased.

"What do you want, Gwen?" I asked her blandly. "Here to kill me before you could say, 'Lynch them all on sight'?"

"Oh, Brianne. Very hilarious," Gwen responded lightly with a laugh. "No. Just wanted to clear the air."

"There's nothing to clear when nothing has been stirred. And from what we've been through, nothing has been going on between us except salt." I calmly brushed away a loose strand of hair that fell from my bonnet, never breaking eye contact with Gwen. "I'll be frank here; I really, truly, thought we could be friends in the town. But no, we can't. Not after what you've done with me, and Justin, and the rest of the town. There's still at least one more Mafia member running around, and I don't think we'd hesitate to bring them down, whoever it may be."

This made Gwen turn purple with rage. "So you're saying you can't trust me?"

"You've been pretty rude to me. Of course I can't trust you. Even the dead have been telling me some...interesting things about you that made me doubt your trust." I let out a low chuckle then as I turned the doorknob. "Besides, you are such a failure of a leader. You think you can kill us; but even in death, we scream for vengeance. I wonder who will scream for yours."

With that, I slammed the door shut behind her. I would have continued letting her scream into my face, but I didn't. Such a girl who used to hold great composure but was now falling apart...what was her purpose in trying to get me on her side? By the sound of it, she was becoming more desperate. Desperate to win, that probably was.

Just before I could do anything, however, I felt something clap over my wrists, and a hand struck down against my temple- _hard._ The last thing I heard was a deep, old, female voice.

"You're coming with me. Now."

* * *

When I finally managed to come to, I realized I was lying upon a cold stone floor, alone in a small dark vicinity. A single window was situated near the top of the chamber, allowing what little moonlight to penetrate through the dirty glass, a brilliant luminescent glow dancing on the tiles. I tried to sit up, but the manacles wrapped around my wrists did not give. And then I heard her, the jailor, speak up harshly.

"Brianne. You claim you're the medium, correct?"

"Yes." The word came out of my mouth almost automatically. "I'm a medium. I heard the histories of most of the dead, if not all of them. And I'm sure most of them would be expecting me to talk with them once more."

"Pah." The jailor shook her head and twirled her keys around-the keys to my cell, probably. "Well, I'll give you the scoop. You're staying here for the entire night. I believe that you're telling the truth-especially since the Serial Killer is already dead and I don't have to worry about being attacked. But I would greatly regret doing so if I find that, come tomorrow, you reveal yourself as the Godfather. Or another Mafioso. I'll be watching you."

Why did the Jailor sound so familiar? I couldn't quite place the finger on it, but she sounded like an evil version of Charity-very different from the cheery grandmother figure I've seen come every new day in the town. Wait. Was Charity the Jailor?

"You can't do that!" I cried.

The Jailor shook her head again. "No. I can. And don't think for a second I would hesitate to execute you if I find that you are a killer." With that, she walked away, leaving me alone in the jail cell.

Great. Down went the plans of talking to the dead and asking them the questions that still hung on my own tongue, and near the forefront of my mind too. I slumped against the wall of the cell, glancing up at the moonlight that streamed into the cell. I supposed my face was paler than ever with the exposure, but I couldn't care less. I was safe tonight, but I was also in danger at the same time.

I didn't know Charity could be this scary.

"So. Jailed tonight, huh?"

A voice suddenly piped up and I jumped, stunned to see another ghost sitting beside me with a wistful expression on her face. "Um. Yeah, I am. Who are you?" I asked her.

The ghost glanced up at me and shrugged, her shoulders sagging slightly with each movement. "I'm Abigail. Abigail Williams. I suppose not many people care that I exist," she said in a low voice. "That's probably why they all ignore me when I try to talk to them."

"Oh. That's...that's unfortunate to hear, Abigail." I held a hand out to her then so she could shake it. "I'm Brianne. Brianne Lawson."

At the last name 'Lawson', Abigail perked up. "Lawson? I take it that you're related to Deodat Lawson, then? The minister of Salem Village before the Witch Trials, and a member of the jury during that?"

How did she know all of this? Frankly, I knew nothing about the Salem Witch Trials itself. The only thing I did know was that some of the default names were taken from the actual historical event itself, but never did I think that I'd actually be related to one. I just thought that me sharing a surname with Deodat Lawson was a mere coincidence. "I...I wouldn't know, Abigail. My mom didn't say anything much about my ancestors. And I suppose you know what happened to my father."

"Your father? Henry Lawson? Ah, he was such a handsome man," Abigail recalled, chuckling. "Yes, he too spent a day in jail. First day, before he could use his gun. And he gave me the same response-he had no idea whether he had ancestors involved in the Salem Witch Trials. Of course, you wouldn't know. Witch's magic works very strongly here in the Town of Salem."

"I figured that much." I crossed my legs and leaned back against the wall once more. "I was planning on asking him if we did have ancestors involved in the Trials if he survived. But the Arsonist-his rivalling colleague-burned him down near the end of the game."

"Did he? Oh, such a shame." Abigail sighed and raised a hand to adjust her bonnet. "You'd be lucky you've gotten yourself a retributionist this year. I've met him too, you know-he was just a father, you know! Just became a father a year before this year's Games."

"Wait-seriously?" I was shocked to hear this. Nathan didn't look like the kind of guy who would already become a father. "I-"

Abigail just giggled then and got up, walking over to the other side of the chamber. "There are so many things you don't know about your own competitors, Brianne. You think you do from their final wills, but in reality, they've got a lot of secrets. Of course, I wouldn't know every single one of you, but as long as the Witch's magic reigns here, I would forever be trapped in this cell, where your jailor is bringing every suspicious convict here."

"But why? What did you do?" I asked her. I couldn't deny that my curiosity was piquing the longer I talked with Abigail. Soon, the regret for not having to talk with my dead comrades evaporated and flew out the window, almost as if the regret itself had become a ghost of its own.

"I was-am? No, _was_ -Betty's cousin," Abigail told me. "I used to live with the Parris family, actually."

"Wait. So you lived with Betty? And Samuel Parris?"

Abigail nodded. "Things were fine at first. Then one day, we decided to take a look into fortune-telling, and then things started happening to us-terrifying things. We felt spirits pinch us from all over. Being one of the first people afflicted, they arrested us and testified us. I even sent over 50 people to jail under the impression that they have practised witchcraft."

"So the people of the Mafia and other killing people have nothing to do with the real history of Salem?"

"Yeah. Basically. When I heard about Serial Killers coming in here, or Mafiosos, or Janitors, I'd freak the hell out and back away. I have no interest in talking to killers! I take it that you're not a killing role, then?"

I shook my head. "No. Just a lonely Medium."

"Ah, the Medium. A great ability to be able to communicate with the dead-I wish I had that power."

All of this, I could swear, was hard to wrap my head around. So what was she saying, then? Was Town of Salem basically defying the historical events that really happened in the real Salem? "When did the Trials happen?" I asked her.

"1692."

This sent a shiver up my spine. So many people were testified for practising witchcraft over three centuries ago. "You think that...if I retain my powers, should I stay alive, I can talk with them?"

"We haven't had a medium here in the last few years the Salem Games ran. You're the first," Abigail responded. "Consider your role a lucky one, Brianne. Besides, we're all in dire need of a medium right now. We need your help."

"Why? What's wrong?"

I supposed the torrent of questions would annoy the heck out of Abigail, but she didn't mind. "Ever since the commencement of the Salem Games, everyone thought it was just pitting themselves against many factions-Town vs Mafia, Mafia vs Serial Killer, Arsonist vs Werewolf, and so on. And for centuries, no one questioned whether that was really what your online game was truly about. No one had ever questioned the true history of Salem."

"And let me guess. That's bad?"

"They all think that it's a game simply based on Mafia and Werewolf. There's a minor detail they've all forgotten about, it seems."

Another chill ran down my spine when she said this. Everyone had ended up arrested under the suspicion that they have experimented with witchcraft. If witchcraft was the basis of the history Salem had built itself upon...

"Yes, Brianne." Abigail nodded, and I almost jumped again in shock; her voice had cut through my thoughts almost effortlessly. "They've forgotten about the witches. And because of that, the Salem Games had become the most unstable form of keeping the world in check, and also keeping true to the history of Salem. Because of this, the witches are fading away into the shadows. And they would do anything-anything at all-to strike when you all least expect it."


	14. Chapter 14

"You're kidding."

I didn't know how else to react to that latest bit of news. Worst case scenario, the entire world would be influenced by the history of Salem-not any of the online game nonsense-and blame each other for what had happened to their close loved ones. And whose fault would it be? Not even I, with my magical mystical powers, could find the answer to that question.

Abigail shook her head, the simple action confirming my suspicions. "It's true, Brianne. Salem went through so much chaos because we all thought witchcraft reigned here in the city. But what did the gamemakers do instead? They've unleashed a dirtier version of Mafia with so many twists-even the witches, the main thing that fuelled Salem's history, were given such a horrible role to play."

Hearing this from Abigail made me bite my lip in the slightest worry. I hesitantly put a hand on her shoulder in reassurance. "I don't think the witches would arise anytime soon, Abigail. I guess we would know if Salem is in danger, but we'll be wary, all of us."

"How can you be so sure you can keep to that promise?"

I was prepared for that question. "I'll write it in my will. The moment I get out of this prison, I'll make a note in my will. If I don't die, then I'll talk with my mom, and my close friends too. The more ears to hear this, the better."

Just then, the rooster crowed from outside, signalling the end of the next night. The next day, the sixth day, was about to commence in the town.

"Well, I wish you all the best, Brianne," she said then, a small smile on her face. "I hope you hold true to your promise." She glanced back at me as she drifted away. "You know, you really do remind me of Deodat Lawson in some ways. Make your ancestor proud, alright?"

* * *

Surprisingly as I was sent back to my house by the Jailor the next morning and walked out to greet the rest of the town, everyone was still alive, though Sam hobbled out without a shirt one and clutching onto something wrapped around his chest. My best bet was probably that somehow, the Godfather and the Doctor had read each other's minds. Of course, they would have gone for different purposes, but at least the veteran's not dead.

"Fun. No deaths," Justin murmured, keeping his voice low as he tried to stifle a yawn behind his hand. "Sorry."

"I suppose with the worry of us dying, we all missed out on sleep," I agreed with a subtle nod. "Even I can't sleep without thinking that I might die with a bullet in my gut. Anyway, that didn't matter-I was jailed last night."

"Jailed?" Gwen blanched immediately when she heard it. "You're kidding."

"No, I'm not."

"Cut her some slack," Sam told Gwen then, his voice still laced with lack of sobriety but his syllables not as slurred. "She's been through a lot."

"Well, we all have!" Gwen barked sharply at Sam, and I could tell she was trying not to flinch at the sight of the bandage on Sam's bare chest. "And the last thing I want is to get the hell out of here and resume the summer I want to live! I didn't ask to be here and have everything turn into chaos!"

"There are only five of us left," I volunteered, raising my hand. "The most we can do, then, is expose the rest of the Mafia and claim a Town victory."

A shiver ran up my spine at that exact moment as I recalled my discussion with Abigail last night. Did anyone else who went into that cell have the same conversation as I did? Or were they too preoccupied with the fact that they couldn't do anything as they stayed put in that small dingy dark chamber hoping that the jailor wouldn't kill them? The main reason Salem was in trouble was because most of these people nowadays don't realize what made Salem so well known in the first place. I'd normally consider myself lucky that there wasn't a Witch in this game, but Abigail had a point. Once Town began to pit themselves against the bad killers, everything was thrown into chaos-emphasis on the _everything._

"So what should we do now?" Charity asked, looking over from me to Justin to Sam to Gwen. "Would a role call at this point in time work?"

Everyone but Gwen seemed to be in agreement. The other girl, in the meanwhile, simply folded her arms and humphed. "I don't see the point in that when everything seems so glaringly obvious. But then again, I say we should testify Brianne again. I have a feeling she really is not the Medium after all."

"What? Why me?" I asked her, a little shocked to hear this. "I thought we already finished testifying me! I am a medium-the first medium ever to appear in the Games since they began!"

"I don't believe you" was Gwen's only response. "If you are a medium, _prove it."_

That was it. Once more, by popular vote, I was up for trial yet again, making my slow way to the podium with a wistful, almost desperate, expression on my face. "Really, guys? So you're just going to trust Gwen and think that, once more, I'm not the nice medium who has been conversing with the dead every night and getting some valuable information for all of you? Think about this, guys. Just because, for one night, I was jailed, doesn't mean that I haven't been doing my duty. Drew told me about her tense relationship with Gwen, and Peter told me about his hunch about Alana. But then I wonder to myself: Why are we all pitting against each other like this?"

"She's lying!" Gwen screeched, waving her hands. "She's nothing but a liar! And screw the question of humanity. I vote guilty!"

It was a shame I couldn't do anything to save myself, but I saw the mix of anger and determination in Justin's face as he mouthed to me, "I believe you."

That was enough for me, at least, to leave the podium once more with a 3 to 1 innocent vote.

My trial was the only trial that ran that day, as everyone after was left in a deadlock that never broke between me and Gwen. Eventually, we all dispersed, and much to what I suppose would be everyone's surprise, I went over to Sam's place. It would probably be frowned upon by most, and it might even be considered stepping out of line, but I had to confirm something with him, and it made me feel bad for the fact that I barely know him at all.

Sam looked at me as if I was a bottle of water the moment he opened the door, his eyes set in a squint though the rest of his face hinted slightest surprise. "Brianne, right?"

"Yeah. Is it okay if I come in?" I asked.

"I don't see why not." He stepped aside, and I quickly entered the house.

Sam's house was probably the messiest out of everyone's. A bloodstained shirt was folded over the back of his chair-probably from the gunshot that the Mafia sent his way last night. A gun about as long as my arm-a rifle, I think it was called-laid on his dresser, two other discarded ones stuffed and packed haphazardly in a large black plastic garbage bag. Several bottles of alcohol decked his desk, along with a few scrunched up pieces of parchment-copies of his will that he could not bear to read, I assumed. His wardrobe was also almost completely empty, and the entire place reeked strongly of alcohol.

"Wow. You've got...quite the living quarters here," I murmured. Then I turned to him, watching him struggle to put a shirt over his bandages. "So...so you were shot by the Mafia last night, weren't you?"

"Yeah. Well, I suppose it'd be obvious now since the Serial Killer's dead. At least she won't be troubling us for a while, though I'll admit the thought of an eight-year-old being a ruthless psychotic murderer still frightens me," Sam said with a nod, adjusting his shirt over his body. "I'd be lucky the doctor saved me, though. He's got quite the surgeon's hands."

"At least we both have something in common, then. We've both been wounded by the Mafia and a Doctor saved us," I said, perching myself then on the edge of his bed just so I had a place to sit.

"Yeah. And from what I've observed, Justin's the doctor," Sam agreed, sitting beside me on the bed. "You're pretty sweet on him, aren't you?"

"Me? Sweet?" The slight mention of it made me blush slightly. "No...?"

"Ah, come on. Even a drunk old man like me can tell," Sam chipped jokingly.

In reality, Sam didn't look that old. He looked to be slightly older than Nathan, though-probably in his mid-40's or so with slick red hair sticking up every which way and a short little goatee on his chin. But I knew exactly what he meant. He saw the way Justin and I communicated in the town, and the way I reacted when I saw that Justin was dead, then revived the very next day. And I knew he was being an honest man all the same. After all, a drunk man always told the truth.

"Do you ever miss your family?" I asked him then. "I mean, was there ever a time when you wish you could go back and...live a comfortable life, if Salem didn't choose you?"

This took Sam aback just slightly, and he tapped his chin in thought. "Well. Funny why you should ask that, Brianne."

"I just thought, you know. Everyone here is making their final stand in Salem, and I just wonder if...if you wondered what it would be like not to die as a veteran, but as an actual...man. The man you are outside of Salem."

"Outside of Salem..." Sam sighed and ran a hand through his sticky hair. "Well, I am an uncle to a young niece and two older nephews. I never had kids of my own. And I've...I've been a depressed man for a while. Got fired from several jobs and got dumped by my fiancee two days before our wedding."

"Oh." I was a little shocked to hear that. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I've learned to cope with it all," Sam reassured me. "Better hang on to life while it's still ripe, right? And it doesn't matter how it ends. If your life had a bang somewhere, you're good."

Maybe he was right. Maybe there still was something worthwhile out there that could help me live my life with a bang. I nodded at Sam's words then and smiled.

"I understand."


	15. Chapter 15

The soft familiar whooshes of the spirits arising from the dead filled my ears, a whisper of a breath hissing in the air. As I faced the glowing ghostly spirits of Klaus, James, Nathan, Alana, Drew, Trixie, Peter, Rachael, Hans, and Evelyn, I felt numbness wash over me, a dull ache resonating from within. It felt as if I was the one who killed them, one by one, and I couldn't do anything to stop their deaths. Even if some of them were deserved, not all of them were. Beyond the Salem arena, they didn't deserve to die.

"What's wrong, Brianne?" Drew floated over to me and tilted my head up to meet her eyes. "You look a little glum."

"As if _she_ needed all the more reason to feel guilty!" Trixie interjected, humphing and crossing her arms indignantly. "Aren't you happy that you finally got rid of me, the mad lunatic killer?"

"No!" I slammed my palms against my desk, close to upsetting my ink pot where my quill still stuck. "I'm happy we got rid of the mad lunatic killer, but I'm not happy that we got rid of someone so young!"

"I didn't stand a chance," Trixie said apologetically with a shake of her head. "Being on that podium a day ago gave me a chance to look back on my life. And it was bad. Both my parents are thieves who work incognito at night. Looking at the things we stole, we didn't look poor, but in reality, we are. We constantly had to move from city to city. Soon my mother began to wield knives to divert the officers...and the authorities..." She wiped a tear trickling down her face. "I didn't know what I was doing here, honestly. And as a psychotic killer! I realized it was all wrong. All the stealing, killing...I hope this taught them a lesson. This is the consequence of living a criminal's life."

I glanced up at her and nodded. Hearing her backstory, I now found a newfound respect for the girl. At least she knew what was right. Such a young girl who ended up having all of her innocence taken away from birth...it was mortifying, to say in the least.

"Do you all ever think about your families?" I asked them. "I mean, while you were all alive?"

"I did, indeed." Evelyn nodded at the question. "Unlike Trixie, we were poor, and we could barely scrape by for education. I miss my sister..." Her voice trailed off as she glanced out into the night. "My mom said her eyes were almost like the night sky, an unusual colour for a person's eyes but a unique one nonetheless. She loved to see her eyes twinkle. So did I. We kind of found our happiness in the hustle and bustle of the city, but while everyone else knew what they were doing, I didn't. I guess it was appropriate to be the Amnesiac coming here, but they must have wondered why. My family, I mean. I guess they'll never know."

"My brother..." James blinked a few times and shrugged. "The good thing about being dead is that I can see him again. The bad thing is that my parents would wonder what we'd be up to this time. We were once called the troublesome duo, after all," he added with a chuckle.

"And all of you have no hard feelings against each other?" I questioned. "No...need to declare war on each other, or kill one another to make things fair and square for you?"

This sent a wave of disturbance against the ghosts, but they understood. Rachael shrugged. "Well, it depends on who kills you first. But killing in the first place is just frowned upon greatly. Even suicide and euthanasia sounds...wrong. You're violating so many rights holding a knife or a gun and using it for the wrong purposes."

I remembered my mom telling me that most people needed to be disciplined so that they wouldn't get influenced by the harm and deviance in the world. And now, sitting here, I realized just why people like me, as much as they liked playing the online game, did not like watching these Games unfold. There was no direct harm online, unless nasty words were delivered your way in the chat box that resulted in filing a report for their misconduct. Not to mention that we were all playing behind computer screens with avatars to do our bidding, and losses and wins in the game didn't mean anything. Here, we had no one but ourselves to control, and the hesitance in performing every task at night that had to do with killing a friend was inevitable, yet we still do it. We had no choice but to. And in the end, guilt was all we could feel, because we stepped out of line.

"You just get used to it after a while," Hans chipped in. "Being dead, I mean. Then again, I wouldn't even take the time to thank Gwen for what she did to us Mafia. She resented you since the beginning. She always wanted you dead."

"Gee. That's good to know," I muttered. "What else is new?"

"I want sushi," Peter interjected. "The sushi we had at the block party was really good."

"Not to mention the Pepsi," Klaus added. "Or was it Coca Cola? Why did they just have to serve all the beverages in plastic cups?"

"Don't blame you there. I have a hard time finding the difference between Coca Cola and Pepsi," Alana added with a chuckle.

Just the mere thought of the food from the kick-off party made my stomach growl, and I nodded in agreement. Lately, all I had was buttered bread and a glass of water for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and now that I thought about it, the meagre meal itself didn't sound the least bit appetizing.

"At least we didn't have to fight for it," I said with a slight chuckle. "It's funny, but I always thought this was the equivalent to _The Hunger Games_. Now the more I think about , the less similar the both of them sound."

"Still, you're fighting for your life here," Nathan warned me. "Don't forget that. Besides, you have at least one more member of the Mafia running around, right?"

I nodded solemnly at that. I wouldn't forget my promise to Drew, to expose Gwen the first chance I got. And tomorrow would have to be the day. I highly doubted that after the Games ended, I would be granted the chance to retain my powers and talk with the dead as much as I wished.

 _But then that means you would never get the chance to talk with your father._

Just before I could respond, I heard another click of the gun from my door. All heads immediately snapped to the intruder, and I rose from my chair, my legs trembling threatening me to collapse. Standing there at the doorway was none other than a member of the Mafia.

"Well, well, well. Seems like Hans failed to get you the first time." The figure chuckled as she raised the gun to my chest. "This time, I'll make sure you never get out of Salem alive."


	16. Chapter 16

"You wouldn't dare," I muttered.

The mere sight of the gun she held didn't faze me in the slightest. Tense silence hung in the air for a few seconds, pulling my sanity and self-control taut to the point of snapping, but I held my ground. Behind me, I could hear Evelyn let out a scream, and Drew growled. I picked up my crystal ball, the glass trembling in my hands. Too late, I realized that I never put what Abigail wanted me to put in my will, and tonight could very well be the last night of my life.

I could not afford to have my secret die with me.

"Oh _puh-lease,_ Brianne." Gwen simply chuckled, her grip on the gun tightening. "Everyone already knew that good little Brianne is nothing but an annoying little bitch. I'm sure by this point they'd give anything to see her lying in a pool of blood with the crimson ribbon on her wrist. Besides, I suppose you've noticed how...incompetent the Mafia team is."

"Because of your failure to keep them in line," I spat. "Drew walked away from you because of your scary dictatorship ways. Hans got hanged because his kills were too obvious-even mine was. And Alana? Well, I would take it that you hardly gave a single care about her. You didn't even care when Peter haunted her."

"Excuse me? I didn't _care?_ Of course I cared, Brianne. But I'll be frank when I tell you that they have been nothing but serious idiots." Gwen scoffed annoyingly at the mention of them, blowing a strand of hair away from her face in the process. "They refused to listen to me whenever I told them to do something. Consider it their fault."

How could she just criticize her own team like that? I was a little stunned, I would admit. Behind me, I could hear Hans and Alana growl menacingly. I didn't have to look back to know that they were balling their fists at the same time.

"And what about you, Brianne? You haven't successfully defended your claim as the freaking Medium. It's such a wonder how everyone is going after you when they failed to lynch me on the first day," Gwen said coolly. Then she saw the crystal ball in my hands, and nodded. "Oh. I see. So you really _were_ telling the truth, huh. Dear me, of course I see the proof. But who was the one being victimized by her own town, including the lovesick sweetheart of a doctor? _You."_

"Don't act anymore rashly than I did!" Rachael screeched behind me, knowing full well that Gwen wouldn't be able to hear. "You'll end up in serious trouble like I did!"

The grip on my crystal ball tightened as I stared Gwen down. "I'm not scared of you. And I don't back down when my people are against me. So let them be against me. I will die staying true to what I am."

"So you really are going to give up so easily, aren't you? That's how you'll play it?" Gwen's eyebrow twitched, and she shook her head. "Alright, then. Might as well have the town against you while I move in for the final blow."

Before I could blink, she pressed the trigger. Another blasted gunshot rang and echoed around my house, and I yelped in pain as I felt something lodge into my chest. Pulling the crystal ball close to my stomach, cradling it carefully like a baby, I fell back once more against the floor, trying to breathe normally but without success. Low groans escaped my lips involuntarily at the agony spreading through my being.

Well, at least tonight, I would finally join the ghosts floating in front of me./p

"Brianne!"

Ten voices immediately resounded in my ears as they peered over me, James placing a hand on my forehead while Alana used the edge of her sweater to press against my wound. Their efforts could only delay my inevitable death; they cannot prevent it. Still, I smiled to them in gratitude. At least tonight I wouldn't die alone.

"You have to hang on," Nathan pleaded me. "You must. You have to tell them to lynch Gwen and get her out of the town for good."

Before I could say anything, the door opened once more, and the doctor immediately rushed in to see me writhing on the floor, blood pooling beneath me.

"Brianne!" he cried. "Oh god, this isn't good..."

Just like the last time, he carefully eased the bullet out of my chest and stitched the wound together with his needle and thread. The entire time, I clenched my teeth together and gripped onto the crystal ball like a vice, not noticing the cracks that began to form on the surface. It didn't seem to affect the ghosts, though. I was so focused on the wound that he was stitching that I didn't notice Betty come in, floating beside Peter and Hans with a concerned look on her face.

"It was Gwen, wasn't it?" Justin asked me as he snipped the thread off the wound, gently gripping my shoulders and pulling me up to a sitting position.

"What? Oh, yeah. It sounded like her," I muttered with a nod. Technically I wasn't supposed to tell him this, but I had to. Heck, Gwen wasn't even supposed to speak, and yet she did, right before what she supposed was her final act of defiance. "God. Why did they all resent me so much?"

"I don't resent you, Brianne. I always believed you." Justin took off his gloves and gently cupped my face with a hand, his touch tentative. "I always had."

"But the rest of the town didn't. Why else would I have been voted up yesterday?" I asked him. "That was my second time being on trial. And we were so close to getting Gwen the first day but..." I gently placed the crystal ball on my lap and buried my head in my hands. "I voted her innocent. Was I stupid to believe her?"

"No one knew." Justin shook his head. "You weren't stupid. You just did what your gut told you. I voted her innocent too, remember? But at least now we won't make the same mistake twice. We'll lynch her first thing tomorrow. We'll win this thing for everyone."

"If only it were that easy. Gwen's...someone back home too, you know."

"I know. But we can't just...wait everything out while she keeps killing people. And I don't want to see you die a third time, Brianne." He gently pulled me into a hug, burying his face in my shoulder. "You're all I could trust here."

To be all honest, I was shocked to hear him say this. I was the only one he could trust? Was that true? All worries ceased as I hugged him back, resting my cheek on his shoulder and closing my eyes too. I knew I was denying it all to everyone who thought I had something with Justin, but I couldn't help it. Romance in the town...it was completely uncalled for. Unexpected, even. Anyone would use that to their advantage, especially those who resented us so much. Then my thoughts went back to the time Justin once appeared to me as a ghost and tears, unbidden, began to leak from my eyes. How could I forget the fact that Justin died and came back from the dead, all thanks to Nathan who floated above me now like a ghost?

I was thankful that the dead did not speak. Longing, sadness, anger, worry...they all boiled up within me as I continued crying into his shoulder, bringing him closer without shattering the crystal ball between us. I probably didn't realize it before, but now I realized just how much I needed him. He's the only reason I'm still alive and defied death, _twice._ And he's the reason I'm still here, not hanging on the gallows. He helped me avoid lynching, _twice._

What's not to be grateful for, especially from a skilled surgeon whose role was doubted so often?

"I-I'm sorry," I sobbed, trying to calm myself by taking deep breaths but without avail. "I'm sorry..."

"Hey. It's okay. You have nothing to be sorry for," he whispered. He lifted a hand and began to rub my back.

"You don't get it. I couldn't...I couldn't _do_ anything," I explained through my thick hot tears. "I couldn't do anything to help you the same way you helped me all this time and..."

"You are, Brianne. You have been helping me in many ways," Justin told me. "You made me happy to do my job, doing good service to the town. You believed in me so much. Why else would the Retributionist have resurrected me? Brianne, you're my only friend in the town and...hey, please, don't cry." He pulled away just to wipe the tears away from my cheeks with his thumbs. "It pains me to see you cry."

I couldn't help but give a slight laugh at his statement. "And is there anything I could do to make you feel better then, doc?"

Justin laughed too at the little joke, cupping my cheek with his hand once more. "Perhaps a kiss would do, ma'am."

He wasn't being serious, was he? I shook my head and chuckled as I pressed a kiss to his cheek, pulling away with heat flooding my own cheeks.

"You missed."

I glanced up at him, a little confused. "What do you-"

He cut me off with a kiss on my lips.

"I SHIP THIS!" I heard James catcall behind me. "Aww!"

"Shut up! You're ruining it!" Evelyn scolded him playfully.

"What? It's true! I ship it!"

I couldn't care less about James and Evelyn bickering behind me. The sudden kiss Justin gave me made me freeze in shock for at least five seconds. Even my heart stopped beating as the shock washed over me. Did he actually like me that way? A strange combination of relief and giddiness took over as I closed my eyes and kissed him back, my lips slowly growing in a smile that made me let go. "Since when?" I asked him, my voice suddenly husky.

"Since the day before I died." Justin grinned cheekily and laced our hands together. "I guess it's high time I thank Nathan for bringing me back from the dead."

Nathan's ghost grinned. "You're welcome," he said; even though he knew he couldn't hear him, he was glad to be acknowledged.

Betty then came in and motioned for me to return to my desk. "I heard you had a talk with my cousin last night?" she asked me.

"I did. And speaking of which, I need to write everything in my will," I told her. Of course I had to. There was no telling whether tonight was truly the last night, after all.

"Alright. But you know there'll be no need for that," Betty warned me.

"I'm sorry?"

Betty took a breath. "I met with Abigail in the prison shortly after you left. She told me that...the end was near for you in the town. But the witches are rising now. They've gathered an army, and they'll do anything to get back at the Town who had ignored them for so long. That's why we called you here, Brianne. To this day, you're the only one besides your father who has a direct relationship with an ancestor who had once been involved with the Salem Witch Trials. This is what Salem's known for. Without that...Salem is nothing. And now, since these stupid producers and Gamemakers are ignoring that little detail, the witches are angry. They will stop at nothing to get back at all of us. We are unsafe."

"So..." I was thoroughly confused. "So now what?"

Betty's face was serious as she looked at me and Justin in the eye.

"Brace yourselves."


End file.
